


Treasured Chest

by TheZev



Category: Captain America (Movies), Tomb Raider & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Boat Sex, Boats and Ships, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Public Nudity, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25801171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheZev/pseuds/TheZev
Summary: Enjoying some rare peace and quiet on her yacht, Lara Croft finds her tanning disturbed by Captain Steve Rogers. He wants to recruit her for a mission. What she wants is a bit more complicated.
Relationships: Lara Croft/Steve Rogers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unrepentantly inspired by Hayley Atwell wanting to play Lara Croft.

Lara Croft heard something moving through the water.

As keen as her senses, that wasn’t much of a challenge for them. She was in the middle of the ocean, or at the very least, so far off from shore that she might as well be in the middle. There were no seabirds to disturb the silence with their cawing, and no other people for as far as the horizon stretched. The ocean was calm, the waves so quiet she could barely hear them over the sound of her record player singing out the aria _Vedro con Mio Diletto_ from _Il Giustino._

What she could hear was the sound of a man knifing through the water. His form was good, she judged from the regular chop of his arms and legs, but the man was simply too large to camouflage the vast quantities of water his passage displaced. She compared him to the Takian fishermen of Lao Lao, none of whom were above five foot five. _They_ could swim through the currents with barely a ripple in the water. This man, she judged, was big enough in comparison to pose a certain danger. Especially if he was armed.

The prospect was thrilling, but Lara always tempered her risk with caution. She reached off of the towel that held her lotion-wet body and picked up one of her twin Heckler & Koch USP Match pistols from her gunbelt. She moved the gunbelt under the beach bag she had brought out with her and pulled the gun underneath her towel, so she was holding it out of sight.

It wasn’t like she had very many places to conceal it. She was taking advantage of her privacy to suntan with nothing more on than some oil and her sunglasses, the summer-hot sun pouring down on her naked body with such intensity she felt a little like she’d just had a good spanking.

It was not a very ladylike way to receive guests, Lara conceded, but then, her visitor was the one who hadn’t phoned ahead.

A waterproof, military-grade rucksack came sailing over the side of her yacht, splashing down on the hull. Its impact disturbed the record player enough to make the record skip. Lara winced at the sound of the needle scratching. She rearranged herself slightly, folding her arms under her chest to prop herself up a little as her guest hauled himself up after his bag.

The pose hid her breasts, or most of them, at least—she was rather voluptuous—but Lara neither could hide her bare buttocks, nor did she try to. As far as she was concerned, she had nothing to be ashamed of.

And neither did her uninvited guest. He stood well over six feet tall—tall enough for Lara not to care about the precise measurements, just that he towered over her as her old-fashioned upbringing insisted a man should tower over his woman. His chest and shoulders were huge, his legs long and well-muscled, his arms equally sculpted. All that muscle should’ve been bulky, but he carried it with the economical grace of a well-trained dancer. He wore only a pair of swim trunks. His handsome face was clean-shaven, the better to show off his geometrically square jaw, and his shortly cut hair was sandy blond. He combed his fingers through it, taming it down to being somewhat neat.

If anyone were to happen upon her naked, Lara could think of much worse choices.

He swept his gaze over the yacht, quickly noticing Lara’s bronze tan against the white lacquer of the hull and the mahogany glaze of the deck. He was, of course, taken aback by her nudity—Lara would’ve been offended if he weren’t. For a moment, he stood there gaping at her creamy skin as it cascaded down from her windswept hair to the almost pornographic bulge of her naked ass… nearly enough to eclipse the appeal of her long, tapering legs with their toned thighs and powerfully muscled calves.

Lara, through some small feminine tricks, flaunted herself while not even appearing to move, except to angle her head slightly so as to inform him he was being regarded. “Do you mind?” she asked.

“I, uh, miss…”

“The record,” Lara clarified. “Either put it back on track or put it out of its misery.”

“Oh. Yes.” He noticed the record player and, almost grateful to take his eyes off her, moved to correct the needle. The aria resumed. “I didn’t know they still made these things.”

“They don’t. I didn’t know I’d wandered close enough to land for someone to swim out.”

“You didn’t. There was a plane that went by about an hour ago.”

Lara’s eyebrow raised, impressed. “That was you?” she asked, allowing a slight acid note of doubt into her voice.

“Bailed out over your last known coordinates, then I started swimming.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “You’re a hard woman to find.”

“It depends on who’s finding me.” Lara picked up her dive watch from the deck and checked its face. About a minute before she turned over. And that might be just a bit too forward for a first impression. “Allow me to cut to the chase. You’ve a motley assortment of blackguards out for an ancient artifact. Some kind of superweapon of this type or that. You, being the heroic sort as I can tell from the set of your jaw, want to stop them. But as you didn’t pay _too_ much attention in school, you’ll need someone who knows her way around a pyramid and can also handle herself in no small amount of trouble. And, preferably, she isn’t too much of a wanker either. Is that about the size of it?”

Now, those broad shoulders moved with the shakes of a repressed chuckle. “More or less,” he said, amused.

“I’ll go a step further, at the risk of being presumptuous, and suggest that since I heard a single-engine turboprop plane an hour ago and not some fancy Quinjet, that this is a mission that would be flying under the radar, if you can forgive the twee metaphor. Hence it would be best if we appeared to be no more than wayward heiress Lara Croft—and one of her comely conquests—happening to enjoy a boat trip in the area, rather than the forces of good rallying their armies.”

“You’d be correct.”

“Mmm, I could get used to you telling me I’m right.” Her watch beeped. Lara silenced it. “Would you be a dear and get my robe from the bag? I’m starting to feel underdressed.”

“But it’s hard to believe you can wear anything any better.”

Lara took her sunglasses off to display how her eyebrows had raised. She could see herself liking his company. He was starting to get into the swing of things.

The man opened up and rifled through her tote bag, finally coming up with a folded robe which he unfurled and held out gallantly for her to put on. He was, perhaps, expecting for her to insist he turn around, or close his eyes, which she got the feeling he would eagerly do. Instead, she nonchalantly got to her feet, showing him her fully exposed body as another woman would display a cute skirt.

In the last few years of her twenties, Lara’s body was still in its prime, her youth in full bloom. Her breasts were double Ds, big and supple enough for any lad magazine in England, and enough to fill most brand-name bras to overflowing.

Thankfully, gravity had no more to say now than it had during her teen years. Her cleavage was perky enough to do without a bra and she usually wore only a sweater or blouse over her naked chest. It always amused her to see someone’s eyes widen in astonishment at how much of her voluptuousness showed through even the most conservative clothes. Her nipples were plump as ripe cherries, for one thing, and when her top rubbed against them enough, they usually stiffened, making it perfectly clear what was and wasn’t between them and the grateful viewer.

She had also toyed with the idea of not wearing panties. She wasn’t now, of course, but usually she found ‘going commando’ uncomfortable and a little too showy. Lara didn’t consider herself A Lady, but she was ladylike, and she disliked the thought of anyone sitting across from her being able to look up her skirt and see the effort she’d put into her private gardening.

Though her figure was almost perfect in proportion, giving her plenty of cause for pride in her curves and musculature, she still felt that her body was a precious gift to be bestowed on those she chose, not taken for granted by anyone with a camera phone. The reaction she got as she displayed herself to her new friend proved to her the wisdom of such a privacy. He looked at her like a boy with his first Page 3 girl.

He was, in fact, so distracted that he didn’t notice Lara holding her gun behind her back, using sleight of hand to conceal it from him as she stepped into the robe and pulled it about her luscious body. She slipped the USP right into the robe’s pocket with him nary the wiser. “Now that we’ve gotten to know each other so well,” she quipped. “Perhaps you might tell me your name?”

“Steve,” he said, still sounding a bit stunned. She hoped she hadn’t rocked him too much on his heels. As much as she appreciated his appreciation, she would like it more if he knew how to handle himself. “Steve Rogers. Captain, DOD.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Steve. That swim must’ve taken a lot out of you. Let’s get you some food. I’d hate to see you run out of energy…”


	2. Chapter 2

Below decks, Lara took an already prepared meal from the freezer and shoved it into the oven. “I’m not much of a cook,” she explained. “But my butler is. Fortunately, he’s managed to find a way to live with himself, making meals for me to reheat later.”

“You couldn’t just take him with you?” Steve asked.

Lara flounced her way to the refrigerator, taking out a bottle of merlot she’d left to chill before her tanning session. “A girl likes to be alone sometime.”

Steve looked around the luxurious interior of the yacht. Between the master cabin, master bathroom, bunk room, galley, dining area, double cabins, and jet ski garage, the place wouldn’t do too bad as a penthouse apartment in Manhattan. “So long as she’s alone in a place like this.”

“Any place is nice so long as it’s not too crowded.” Lara pulled the cork from its bottleneck. “Or there’s company you don’t mind being crowded by.” She held up the bottle. “1942. Aged to perfection.”

Steve actually blushed.

While she poured, he dropped his rucksack on a third seat at the dining table, unzipping it and pulling out a crewneck shirt to put on. Lara liked how the charcoal fabric clung to his muscles almost as much as she liked seeing the beads of water dripping off them. He further retrieved a set of boxers and a pair of trousers, but Lara tutted disapprovingly.

“No need to change yet. We may still be getting wet.”

Steve cleared his throat and shut his rucksack; Lara sensed he was being diplomatic. A natural peacemaker.

“You’ve a very attractive young woman, Lara, but I hope you’re taking this seriously.”

“As seriously as I take anything,” Lara assured him. “But I find that indulging in dramatics doesn’t do much to increase our odds, so I might as well keep a sense of humor about the whole thing.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t think it’s so funny if you heard the specifics. As one of my colleagues has demonstrated, Norse myth isn’t as mythological as—”

Lara held up her hand, quieting him. “Jokes aside, that really is a nice merlot. I believe you’ll find it’s chilled just right.” She pushed his Bordeaux glass over to the other side of the table. “I’m sorry, was that insensitive?”

Steve picked up the glass. “I don’t think anything could be insensitive in that accent.”

Lara ran her finger around the rim of her own glass. “Oh, I’ve been known to curse like a sailor—when I have sufficient cause.”

He drank. She drank with him.

Steve sat down across from her, glancing at the oven to see its timer running down. “So, what do you want to talk about? There is something of a time crunch here.”

“There can’t be too much of one if you intend to get to our destination by boat. But if you’d like to fiddle with the controls, by all means.”

Steve got up and went to the pilothouse at the other end of the yacht.

Lara signed and put the cork back in the bottle. “Perhaps he’s more of a scotch man.”

She followed him to the bow with the two glasses in hand, finding him charting a new course on the ship’s computer. He punched the coordinates in like he had them memorized.

“You’re not the least bit curious about the job?” Steve asked, poring over the instrumentation, not leaving anything to chance.

Lara set down the glasses in the pilothouse’s cupholders—no yacht was complete without them. “Some. But I’m more curious about other things.”

“Like what I think of the wine?” Steve retorted, a little caustically.

“Like what I’m getting out of all this,” Lara replied, equally acidic. “I’m not exactly hurting for money.”

“This is the kind of artifact that won’t leave you anywhere to spend money if it falls into the wrong hands.”

Lara shrugged and removed the USP from her pocket. “Well then, thank you for telling me where it is. That still leaves the question of why I should take you along?”

The hairs on the back of Steve’s neck rose as he felt the gun on him. “Is there a reason you shouldn’t?”

“Poor taste in wine,” Lara quipped. “Or… what’s the American expression… you might cramp my style. Or maybe I just don’t like giving free rides to strange men who don’t so much as call ahead.”

Steve held his hands up. “In my defense, it’s very hard to get your number.”

“You should try getting a blowjob.”

Steve finally ignored the jibe. “You’re going to need my help.”

“Fine, don’t take my advice.” Lara gestured with the USP. “Up.”

“You’re going to throw me overboard?”

“You’re a good swimmer. And you haven’t eaten yet, so I think you’ll be alright.”

Steve obligingly got out of the captain’s chair. “Lara, come on, this is crazy.”

“If you wish for the privilege of accompanying me in this very fine yacht, then I really must insist that you contribute something to the pot.”

“Like what?”

“Well, if you’ve noticed, I’m working on my tan. You could help with the suntan lotion. I have a devil of a time doing up my back. Rather a lot of yoga to make it work.”

Scott’s head dropped to the side in sheer disbelief. “You want me to help you apply suntan lotion?”

Lara lowered the gun. “Quite. And not to shock you, but I have had young male company on this vessel before. They’ve been known to find ways to make themselves entertaining.”

“You want me to sleep with you?”

“That’s such a _déclassé_ way to put it. Let us say instead that from here until we make port, the two of us will save ourselves some laundry and go about our business naked. And whatever happens, happens.” Lara put the gun aside entirely. “I do so love a good sightseeing trip.”

“And you’re serious?” Steve asked.

“Well, don’t I feel vain now? I’d’ve thought a red-blooded American male such as yourself would need little convincing. Unless… are you by any chance…?”

“No,” Steve assured her, sitting back down and finalizing their course. The engines thrummed as the autopilot kicked in, carrying them into motion. “And believe me, you are not overestimating your looks. No convincing at all. It’s just that I’m… _dubious_ you’re clear on what you’re asking for.”

Lara picked up her wine again. “I may not be a senior citizen, but I do have _some_ experience.”

“I’m sure you do… I mean, not _sure_ sure, but…” Steve picked up his own glass. “I know I come off as a soft touch, but I do have certain… tastes. And if you think you can use me like some boy toy, you should know my tastes aren’t compatible with that.”

“Oh?” Lara chortled, intrigued. “Because I’m some genteel little lady who can’t take anything more passionate than being kissed on the forehead?”

Steve swirled his merlot before sipping it. “I’m just saying that if you expect to be on top just because I don’t grunt like a caveman and use a swear word as punctuation, you may be disappointed.”

Lara undid the belt on her robe. “And I’m saying that if you think you can dominate me, by all means, try.” She let one side of it fall away, transferring her glass from one hand to the other. “I think I’d rather like seeing what all that muscle is capable of.” The rest of the robe fell over, leaving her totally naked. This was no quick glimpse. Now he could see all of her, every curve on pristine display. “I’ll even let you finish my wine for me.”

She poured the remains of her Bordeaux glass onto her chest, the red wine splashing and flowing and cascading over her perfect breasts, highlighting their splendor like she was wrapping herself in liquid silk.

Steve might have been able to resist her, but his body could not. His erection stood out from his trunks in a thick bulge, endlessly promising, just this side of excessive even with his body already so overpoweringly muscled—that cock still might’ve been the most impressive thing about him.

With a smooth motion of liquid gracefulness, Lara glided down to sit in Steve’s lap. His cock pressed purposefully into her ass. She thrust her breasts into his face, letting him see every drop of wine running over their plump contours.

“Do your worst, Captain Rogers,” she taunted him.


	3. Chapter 3

And Steve did. He cursed himself for being so weak as to give into her this early in the assignment, but it seemed to be the only thing he could do. He really didn’t want to hurt her, or chance hurting her without gauging her strength and her proclivities, but as stiff as his prick had gotten, he didn’t see how he could avoid it.

His tongue rolled up the slope of Lara’s decadently curved breast, licking along the light misting of sweat from the sun until he reached the point where her cleavage’s overhang stopped protecting the skin underneath it from the flow of spilled wine. The tang of the merlot bit into his tongue, making his mouth water. He kept licking, driving Lara wild enough to drop her slack jaw when his tongue crossed her nipple.

It pressed down hard into the swollen flesh of her nipple, twisting about it, rolling it around like a marble before sucking it between his lips. The pressure of his sucking mouth flooded the tender nubbin with sensation, making it highly vulnerable to the pain as his teeth worried at it. Then his darting tongue soothed it again.

Lara was totally aroused, her anticipating lust now giving way to so much pleasure she was on the verge of climax. She could barely believe her own body’s response, but Lara was hardly the type to be satisfied, not when there was the slimmest prospect of more. And Steve’s chiseled body promised much, much more. She wanted his cock fucking her, not throbbing underneath her. She had to have it inside her, fucking her, making her come.

“Oh, quite right, Steve! Quite right!” Lara gasped before kissing him, happily tasting the last of the merlot on his lips. It spurred her on to slip her tongue into his mouth, seeking that jagged taste inside his lips.

Steve had given in to her and they both knew it. His mouth opened to allow her in and their tongues rolled together until they were both out of breath, panting as if seeking to breathe each other in.

He looked down at her voluptuous body in his lap, now indulging fully in the sight of her naked breasts as they rose and fell in all their succulence. The soft creamy flesh was too tempting for even a gentleman to ignore. His hands covered them; big and callused as they were, Lara’s full breasts still seemed to dwarf his paltry grip. He dug his fingers into them as Lara thrust her chest forward in encouragement of his efforts.

As he kneaded one breast, his hand seeming to breathe pure pleasure into its pliant flesh, Steve used the thumb and forefinger of his other hand to catch the hard nipple of that tit. He twisted it hard. Lara moaned, pain flaring in her to match the delight she was feeling. The combination flamed inside her, consuming her. She kissed him even harder.

Despite both the joy and the agony she felt from Steve’s efforts, Lara could think of nothing but the pulsing wetness at her core. Her thighs opened, as if shaken apart by the throbbing between them. Her cunt lips were engorged, gleaming pink with their moistness.

“Fuck me,” Lara cooed, enjoying saying the foul words in her posh accent. “I want your cock all the way up my quim, shagging me rotten! I want you to stuff me and stuff me and stuff me!”

“If you’re sure that’s what you want,” Steve said questioningly, giving her one last chance to back down.

“Give it to me, you bloody slag! Bang me, bugger me, just get me off!”

She reached under her hips and wrestled his cock out from his swim trunks. It was hard as tempered steel, hot as if it’d come straight from the forge. She pulled it to where she needed it—her legs parted as she lifted her ass, then sank down onto his erection.

They both shuddered at the feel of him inside her. Steve’s lengthy cock kept going into Lara, deeper and deeper, until she was shivering to the point of seizure, her folds stretching to take the huge girth of his manhood. She had never taken something so big and the sheer sensation of it was thrillingly different to any sex she had before. Lara felt like a virgin, being ushered into a new kind of sex—or perhaps learning what sex should’ve been all along.

She bounded up and down, fucking herself on that massive cock, only for Steve to pick her up. Lara gasped, feeling his lengthy member shift inside her as he carried her back to the table she’d set up for their romantic dinner—a foreplay that had turned out to be unnecessary.

She was dumped unceremoniously on top of it, sending the plates flying, the utensils tinkling onto the floor. Most importantly, she lost Steve’s penetration. He whirled her around, bent her over, casting a glance at the oven as he held her down.

“Ten minutes. We have time, but I’ll have to rush. Sorry if you don’t get enough aftercare.”

“I don’t want any aftercare, you bloody ponce, I want to be fucked! Fuck my damn quim already—fucking use it as your own personal cock holster, I don’t bloody care, only get me off!”

“Quim? Is that like a pussy?” Steve said coolly. “I’m not going to fuck your pussy, Lara. That’s what you want. I’m going to do what I want. I’m going to fuck that fat ass of yours.”

The words burned Lara’s ears; her eyes widened. “You… you’re going to bugger me? No—you can’t! You’re too big!”

“Then we’re just going to have to make you bigger too, won’t we?”

A butter dish had stayed in position on the table through his assault on it. Steve ripped off the lid, pinched a helping of the butter off between his fingers, and liberally stroked it over his cock. Once he was well-lubricated, he positioned himself behind Lara.

Steve pushed forward, his prick sliding between the girthy cheeks of her ass, into the humid warmth between. He found the pink sphincter of her asshole and prodded himself into it. The puckered muscle resisted him, but Steve didn’t care. His cock was greased enough to get in, and he was certainly determined enough.

He pushed into Lara gently, not wanting to hurt her, just to show her that she was his. She had asked to be his, he had warned her she’d be his, and now it was a simple fact. He intended to stake his claim.

Lara still mewled with discomfort. Steve didn’t envy her—this probably felt a lot better at his end than on hers. Still, whining wouldn’t change anything. He gave her plump ass a hearty smack, interrupting Lara’s moans with a sharp cry of pained shock.

“Quiet,” he told her. “You’re spoiling a perfectly good fuck.”

“You’re a beast!” Lara gritted out. She still couldn’t help but sound excited.

“You wanted a beast,” Steve pointed out. “Be grateful I don’t make you beg. It’d probably sound real charming in that posh accent.”

“Bloody hell,” Lara sighed. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she felt her anus relax, allowing Steve to push more fully into her tightest, most taboo passage. “Oh, _bugger!”_

“You’ve got that right,” Steve said, giving a heave and shooting himself halfway into her ass.

“ _HHHHHNNNN!”_ Lara screamed, totally overwhelmed. Her entire body felt like it was being distended by the endless impalement of her ass.

“Fuck, Lara, you’re tighter than I thought,” Steve grunted. “Have you ever had anal sex before?”

“Not with a bloody equine, you absolute _git!”_ Lara snapped.

Steve’s muscles corded, snapping his hips against Lara’s rotund ass. The plush flesh jiggled as he drove himself further into her rectum, charging into her until his balls wetly slapped against her roiling cunt.

The little impact launched Lara into a fantasy of how good it would feel to have this massive erection fucking her pussy instead. That was what she’d wanted. How had she ended up with him sodomizing her, using her pristine ass as a cock holster, instead?

“Big loss for the horse,” Steve quipped, enjoying himself immensely. Not only was Lara’s ass practically virginal, as sweetly tight as a man could ask for from a hole, but he liked seeing Lara fume and suffer as she accepted his dominance. It would truly shatter her when this pain turned into pleasure. She’d have to remember the degradation, the humiliation, side by side with the ecstasy of taking his cock. As unprofessional as it was, Steve had to admit it’d be interesting to see how _Lady Croft_ dealt with it.


	4. Chapter 4

Lara’s entire body was on fire. She couldn’t hold in her reaction to being fucked in the ass—she shook, luscious body jiggling with the sensations it gave her. And she still felt the hard slap he had given her ass. That had actually gotten her a little hot.

But the pain from that was bittersweet compared to how Steve’s cock felt up her asshole. Every movement he made in her tight passage seemed seismic, an earthquake inside her. Lara didn’t know how much she could take of this—of being totally filled up, stuffed to the verge of overflowing, stretched as she hadn’t been since first losing her virginity.

Then Steve was sliding out of her. The relief should’ve been immense, a kind of fulfillment of pressure as in Lara’s dalliances with sadomasochism. It wasn’t. The emptiness his prick left behind was far worse than how she’d been stretched and deformed with him inside her.

“No, no, you can’t!” Lara shouted out before she even knew what she was saying. “Put it back in! You’re not done yet—you haven’t come, I haven’t come! I need it! Don’t you need it? Don’t you need to fuck my ass?”

Steve laughed—the sound hit Lara from far away, all the way through the blood pounding in her ears, and she felt insulted far beyond the taunts he had given her before. A little smack talk was all well and good within any game, even sex, but now he was refusing to play, _cheating,_ cheating her of the pleasure she’d rightfully earned by enduring that ungodly torment. What kind of sadist was he, to be willing to sodomize her when she didn’t want it and now deny her just when it was feeling good?

Steve stopped, only his engorged cockhead still inside Lara’s splayed anus. He paused there, poised, making Lara wait for him to thrust back inside her. And while she waited, his hands circled her waist, finding the fleecy hair of her pubic thatch. Following those neatly shaven curls like a treasure map, he came to her tidy little clit, as furiously swollen as Lara’s emotions. He stroked it—Lara gaped, both incensed and ecstatic.

“Cor blimey… oh bloody hell! _Unnnffff!”_ Lara howled. “You never said… never said you were going to do that to me! Fuck, oh shit, Rogers—I thought I wasn’t going to enjoy this!”

“I’m going easy on you,” Steve assured her. “If I really wanted to be mean, I’d make you say ‘please.’”

“Please, _please,_ bloody PLEASE!”

And Steve thrust himself into her ass like a conquering hero.

Lara didn’t know if she came before, during, or after he returned to her ass. All she knew was that she was cooing in the throes of orgasm while he pumped himself into her bowels with all the speed and strength and stamina she would’ve expected from that Olympian body. It still hurt, but the pain was washed out, something subconscious in comparison to the vividness of her orgasm. She had flirted with him, teased him, seduced him. Now he was giving her what she’d asked for, only Steve was a good enough cocksman to know what she needed, not what she wanted.

She wanted to fuck him. She needed to be his bitch.

“Brace yourself, I’m going to wrap this up,” Steve told her. It wasn’t an idle warning.

His hips exploded into motion, plunging him repeatedly into her hot asshole. He felt the clinging circle of her anus part again and again for his pistoning manhood. Lara shrieked in orgasmic bliss, her inner flesh rippling, tightening on Steve’s cock until he could barely stand it.

Sweat poured down his forehead. He glanced at the oven. Sixty seconds. He might as well keep going for the remainder of the time. Now that he had Lara where he wanted her, it would be interesting to see how many orgasms he could get out of her conquered body.

He fucked her harder, his loins smacking against her buttocks as hard as his palm had when he’d slapped her at the beginning, leaving a handprint that was fading as the rest of her plump ass reddened to match it.

Lara was being driven out of her mind with pleasure. She came repeatedly, so many times that it felt like it was never-ending, that her orgasm would go on forever. Her body tensed up, clutching fiercely at Steve’s member.

It was finally more than he could take, just how submissive Lara was in the heat of the moment. He came, pumping white-hot seed into Lara’s bowels like he wanted to leave her a permanent reminder of who she belonged to.

Lara felt his cum surging inside of her, her sensations flared, and she exploded too. Climaxing so hard it was like she was having two orgasms at once, coming in her pussy and her ass at the same time. She felt his driving prick and the searing flood of his semen inside her and she remembered the feel of his hand as it’d come down on her ass and she orgasmed.

Lara didn’t think she could _stop_ orgasming. She sobbed and shook and finally collapsed weakly down underneath Steve, totally drained of all energy, her emotions burnt out. Lara had been thrilled as she never had been before and now it was over, done with.

She felt Steve’s thick manhood melting inside her, coming out of her with a torrent of his jizz. The butter he’d used to lube himself up seemed to sting her rectum, it felt so different from the cum that otherwise inundated her. That was the only thing in Lara’s world that differed from utter and absolute satiation. She felt like a goddess. She felt like she’d been fucked by a god.

Steve marched over to the oven, turning off the timer just as it rang. “Did you work up an appetite or was it just me?” he asked, pulling down the oven door.

Lara drooled absently, though it had nothing to do with dinner being ready. If she tasted anything, it would probably be cum. Steve had certainly pushed enough into her ass.

But not enough that she didn’t want more.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve wasn’t shy about his body. Perhaps it was that a part of him never fully accepted it as his, never let go of that millisecond in the mirror when it was a stranger staring back at him. As well, the European theater had been no place for modesty. He’d bathed, shaved, and shat with a company who’d quickly grown used to his Adonis-like physique, never bringing it up except to razz him the way they would someone else’s long toes or hairy back. And there’d been a fair share of sexual encounters, both before and after he went into the ice. Steve tried not to take advantage of civilians’ gratitude towards being rescued, but he was forced to concede that many women were simply attracted to him. To the point where it seemed ungracious not to indulge at least a little.

He was the soul of discretion and did his best to leave the lady equally as satisfied as he was, but was still circumspect about that whole area of his life. Some people mistook that for chastity. Steve, on the other hand, didn’t understand the modern-day urge to turn everything into a joke or a tweet or some kind of secondhand pornography. He preferred to think there was some intimacy in his dealings with women, not a kind of prostitution without money changing hands.

So perhaps he shouldn’t have been flustered by Lara insisting he go naked on her yacht, as well as being nude herself. Yet he was. His arrogant assumption that he would eventually grow used to the sight of Lara’s unclad body was, put simply, horseshit. Every time he saw her luscious physique, the way she carried herself with such insouciant confidence—a way of flaunting herself and daring him not to look and not caring if he looked—he felt a surge of arousal.

It took all his control not to walk around rock-hard all the time. It was almost enough to drive him to try and avoid her, but that felt like too much of a surrender. After the battles he’d fought, running away from a naked woman seemed ridiculous. And yet _every time he looked at her_ —every time—there was something new and supple and delicious about the sight of Lara.

“Tut, tut,” Lara tsked—managing with unerring accuracy to stumble onto Steve just as he pulled his swim trunks over his lower body. “I’d have thought the great Captain America would be more true to his word.”

“I’m going fishing,” Steve said, picking up a spear in demonstration. “ _I’d_ have thought you’d want me to have at least some protection in open waters.”

Lara grinned. Liking it when he fought back. “I would hate to see you damaged. Unless it’s me doing the damaging, of course.”

Steve made his way to the yacht’s railing. He had also been surprised by how seemingly reticent Lara was to take advantage of his availability. He certainly felt her eyes on him, caressing him at any idle moment, admiring his physique like he was a statue by some master sculptor and she wanted to memorize every detail, learn every stroke of the chisel that had gone into his creation. It seemed impossible that she didn’t want to act on the lust she obviously felt for him.

But of course, it wasn’t that Lara didn’t want him. It was that she wanted him to want her—to lose control of himself and take her as he had done on their first night together. It was a tempting prospect, but some peevish part of Steve compelled him to refuse. He wondered how long he could go without giving Lara what she wanted. How long Lara could go without giving him what _he_ wanted. One of them had to give in. They both knew they wouldn’t make landfall without a repeat performance of that first incredible fuck.

Squatting and then pumping his legs, Steve propelled himself over the railing in an arcing swan dive that carried him right down into the water. He hit with barely a splash, then began the hunt. This was one more bout in their games of one-upmanship. He was gunning for a big tuna, fresh meat to put to shame the frozen cuisine that Lara’s wealth and privilege had secured for her.

Kicking his legs, angling his body to cut through the water, he orbited around the yacht. Not wandering too far, but also appreciating the distance from Lara, the break from her, the effect of the cool water on his body, which regularly felt like it was simmering between the sight of Lara and being seen by her.

Then he saw the yacht’s glass bottom. It was only part of the hull, a lowered pit at the back of the hold, but it served double duty as a hot tub. That was how Lara was using it now. She laid naked in the pool of seething water, the ocean pressing in on all sides, separated from her only by a bubble of glass. Steve was reminded of a foaming champagne bottle, the bubbles roiling inside, obscuring and tantalizing her perfect form just enough to make it unclear what she was doing. That compelled him to look closer. And the more he saw, the closer he looked.

***

Lara grinned at Steve through the cacophony of bubbles in her Jacuzzi and the shifting currents in the ocean outside. He didn’t notice. His attention was torn between her womanhood—never more evident than it was now—and trying to maintain vigilante of his dangerous surroundings.

Between her legs, Lara massaged her slit with her middle finger, working it in a slippery wetness with such sweet difference from the water caressing her body. She saw Steve watching her, seeing her play with herself, and it added to her arousal, making this piddling little toying with herself worthwhile in its perversity despite Steve offering her a much better option.

Her clit grew stiffer, more engorged, as she eyed the growing bulge in Steve’s trunks. She wondered if this foolish man was ever going to come back aboard, make his way to her, and fulfill the fantasy she was clearly entertaining herself with.

Lara knew she was being naughty, tempting a man like this. Not just seducing him, but outright overwhelming him with lust for her, practically ravishing him in the hopes he would return the favor more physically. She moaned, knowing he couldn’t hear it through the glass, knowing he wanted to. She worked her hips against her plying hand and stared hungrily at the monstrous swelling at Steve’s crotch. Spreading her knees wide apart, Lara let him see her finger as it delved inside her. She left no doubt what awaited Steve when he finally thrust himself into her cunt.

Bubbles trailed out of Steve’s nostrils, past his even row of perfect white teeth, as he forgot himself and let slip some of the breath he had meant to hold. He would have to come up for air soon. Where would he go from there?

Here Lara was, laid out in front of him like a jewel, like a pearl in an oyster, a blossoming flower waiting to be picked—a million metaphors swam through Steve’s mind and none of them seemed sufficient for Lara. He was trying to keep some level of professionalism going, something to their working relationship between passion and desire and want, but as superhuman as he was, Steve was still a man. There had to be a point where his body and its urges had to be listened to.


End file.
